


Resurrections

by sleeepywrites



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, F/F, Lady astara/estorial is bisexual, Light Angst, NITYA IM LOOKIN AT YOU, Pining, Resurrection, and downplay the near death experiences their characters faced, if you've ever heard someone talk about dnd, it started off with a... courtly love romance... how did it end up like this?, knight and lady romance, level 20 badasses dying in a turn? that's my lane. step aside., like dying in one turn, my players always overplay the hilarious stuff, near-death experiences are mentioned but downplayed, nitya is canonically lesbian, or at least that's what happens at my table, question mark?, shit im staring into a mirror, talk of losing limbs/losing feeling in a limb, they're both very VERY gay, unless it was interesting or unique
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 09:37:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20374624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeepywrites/pseuds/sleeepywrites
Summary: What's a lady to do, when her knight's gone off questing to murder an overpowered tarrasque, an army of infernal creatures, and an avatar of chaos herself? Not to mention, when said knight sends her a book of her adventure, ending with a five-page letter full of apologies and unspoken words of devotion? And then gets herself killed, twice, in the span of a single encounter? Well, find all your diamonds and resurrect her, of course!If all that's happened to you, then you'd have Lady Estorial and her Eldritch Knight, Nitya: two gay dumbasses who are very much in love. And my character's take on what happens after the events that ended the entire division of a group of Level 20 badasses.





	Resurrections

**Author's Note:**

> This all started, many moons ago, when I asked a friend and player of mine if he'd be willing to DM a game for my birthday. Fast forward through all the planning and waiting, and this is what he came up with: a massive, Level 20 adventure featuring an EXCELLENT dungeon, a magical barrier powered by a necklace named Burden, and a BBEG worthy of many, many short stories. All of us were very new to the characters, as we'd not played them before. Add in the fact that none of us had played at Lvl20 before, and we were in for a fun time. 
> 
> Let's just say the five of us died 8 times in the span of a single, epic battle. And after returning to the party with a clone of herself, my dumbass Nitya threw herself at the BBEG Esa and killed herself in a blaze of glory... within the span of a turn. I am both devastated and constantly throwing myself and my knight under the comedic bus.
> 
> Written as a sappy, self-indulgent ode to my baby and the others of our party who died. (But mostly my baby because I'm biased.)
> 
> (Many battles were implied because my hands do not have the energy to type all of them. But my heart says it would be very fun to throw them into all of the circumstances referenced.)

Nitya was only dead for a day. 

The morning the Apeiron Chi, The 22nd Eternals of The Legacy, fought off Esa Aruthus and her Infernal Legion, a young woman stood at her battlements. Waiting. The Lady Estorial Cemile Pavia, of House Maristel, watched the horizon, scanning the area for a particular knight. A journal was clenched in her hand. The sunlight caught her platinum-blonde hair; she shined like starlight there. And she waited, until the heat became too intense, and her ladies-in-waiting urged her to cease her vigil. To come inside. To dine, to rest, to wait in a cooler place.

And as the sky dimmed, the lady waited by the windows. The sun colored the sky in vivid pinks and purples. She thought not of its beauty, for she did not notice. Transfixed by the empty line of the horizon, she inspected its low, rolling hills, its fields of sweet corn, its forested glens, and its blue-capped peaks. She waited, until the stars that sparkled in the night chased away the sun. 

Hours passed. The two moons of her home world danced their way between the stars, twirling around the world in their never ending waltz. When the moons rose high in the sky, shining the brightest, she decided her vigil was over.

A single day. The court expected her to wait longer; they whispered in secluded corners and behind silk fans. They knew she cared deeply for her knight, but this speaks of something greater. But they bowed when she passed, as they all must, for she was to be wed to the Crown Prince. Better to be safe than sorry, as she strode past them to find the Clerics of Light, and hold their tongue. They did their upmost to ignore the tear stains on her cheeks, the messiness of her hair, the sniffles, the jewelry box she clutched in her hands. 

It did not take long to find the Head Cleric, and convince him to bring Nitya back. The diamonds she proffered were more than enough. “You must speak her name, then,” he instructed, “to complete the ritual.” There was a question there, and it hung unspoken in the air surrounding them. All new of her favorite knight. Yet none knew her full name.

“A nonissue,” she declared. She had the book, and the slip of paper Nitya had hidden inside it. For without it, even Estorial could not bring her knight back from the Raven Queen’s domain. 

A small pile of diamonds, a vial of holy water, and a top-tier spell later, Nitya came back. To a point, Estorial regretted saying Nitya’s name aloud; her final trump card was revealed. But the resurrection required it. “Lady Estorial,” the knight murmured, blinking in the light. She looked about, then blanched to see what state she was in— merely her under things. “Forgive me, for I am no in a respectable state—” The cleric nodded to her, bowing out of the room to allow her some semblance of dignity.

“That,” the Lady said, her voice rich with bridled emotions, “is the least of my concern.” Crouching beside her knight, she whispered, “Thank you, for this.” In her cupped hand, she held the paper with Nitya’s name. Her full and real name, not the one she chose all those years ago. Not the one the court knew her by. On it she’d scrawled in her neatest handwriting: ‘Nandita Drishti Mhasalkar.’ A name she’d not heard in over a decade.

“Perhaps I should burn it,” she decided, and in a graceful motion she took the paper and stood back with a bow. “I… am unworthy of this honor, my lady.” There was more to her action than the usual humility, but in Lady Estorial’s sorry state, she did not notice her knight’s nervousness.

A blush rose on her cheeks. “Nonsense. For you see,” she added, wild with desperation, “your service is not over. You’d promised, my knight, to see me to my wedding day.”

“Indeed. That I did vow.” She hung her head. “But perhaps another would serve you better. There are others—”

“An honorable knight does not renege on their… commitments.” 

Looking up at her with a shy smile, Nitya told her, “Then, I must pay you back for the great sacrifice you’ve bestowed me. My life is forfeit to you, indefinitely, to do with as you desire.” Taking a knee, she added, “I am, into eternity, your knight, your dancer, and your servant.”

“I may, perchance, be in need of a friend once I’ve joined his Royal Highness’s court.” She stepped forwards, lifting Nitya’s face with a delicate hand. “If you’d do me the honor.” Awash with the joy she felt upon seeing her longest friend, her greatest confidant, and her first love, Estorial held her hand on Nitya’s cheek a moment too long. A heartbeat too many. But it was enough.

My life,” Nitya repeated, soft as a whisper, strong as a vow, “is forfeit to you.” She broke away into a deep bow.

——————————

It took longer to resurrect Quain.

Nitya did not tell her Lady what she’d planned; no, it was best to keep it a secret. This was her mistake. Plus, the wedding ceremony was less than a month away, and already Estorial was a wreck. Though she seemed serene and calm to most, in the quiet hours of evening she would fall into the knight’s arms with a heavy sigh. She’d speak of the preparations, of the many things on her mind. Of the difficulty, when walking the line, of keeping peace between her family and his while balancing disparate traditions and ceremonial rites. Nitya decided, many times over, not to bring up her own quiet battles. What servant burdens their master with such?

“It would be easier,” the lady grumbled three weeks before the wedding, “if one ceremony could be done first, the other second. But in doing so,” she complained, pushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes, “the choice would offend the latter!” With a heavy sigh, she lay her head on Nitya’s shoulder. 

Rearranging the lady’s hair, the knight said, “It is a fine line to walk. I could not understand its complexities.”

She turned, then, to look up at Nitya, and told her, “Were we to marry, it would be easier.”

“That…” She could not find the words; somewhere, in another plane, a goddess of love must’ve held her tongue. “That is not possible.” It hurt to mention this, yet it was true. A commoner marrying a lady of her station was unforgivable. Unthinkable, except to the few whose position seemed so unimportant until they saw reality.

“And the world is that much the lesser for it.” Estorial sat up. “We could, though. A secret, between us.”

“If anyone were to know,” Nitya said, the wonderfully full feeling in her chest drowned by an icy fear, “His Royal Highness’s family would negate your marriage. It would not do.” She felt torn. “All that diplomacy for a servant.”

“A knight,” Estorial reminded her, voice frustrated but losing momentum. “But… though I cannot have it in reality, I shall keep it for my dreams. A fantasy. For when we are old and gray, when I am widowed, and when our lives are much simpler. Without the intricate dance of politics.” She smiled. “Then we can be together.”

“If you wish it, so it shall be.”

“And so it shall be,” Estorial said. She intertwined their little fingers, holding close to the feeling. “Promise me you won’t leave me before my time,” she breathed.

“I shall do my best.”

It happened after the wedding, Quain’s resurrection. Nitya accepted gifts from savvy royals, those who knew of her place within Princess Estorial’s heart. Squirreling them away was easy; it was the quiet trading and selling that made things more difficult. She had to wait until the giver had left, so as not to offend. Nobody could know.

But a month later, she had it all. Declaring a necessary excursion to her Princess’s castle, she ducked out on horseback, a large bag of diamonds hidden at her side. Three days later, she returned with the Bard and his daughter, reunited at last. Their cheer brought a lightness to the Princess’s court, bringing with them a fair bit of music.

Quain kept the resurrections a secret, as Nitya did not want to let the greater world know of their losses. To her, it seemed reasonable to keep any and all information close, breasting whatever cards she held in this world of tumultuous standings, of back-stabbing friends, and of heartless dealings. No, the bard decided to keep their secret, singing of nothing that hinted at their battles or their deeds. For he could not, after he attempted to trade songs of heroics for the Burden. Instead, he stuck to tales that inspired kindness and joy, that sparked a goodness in the hearts of the listeners. 

And for the Princess, he sang of love everlasting. It wasn’t difficult to see that Nitya’s devotion was not one-sided, as he had suspected. He understood why Nitya was keeping her plan a secret, why it was easier to skirt around in the shadows than deal with things in the open. He, too, began selling off gems and gathering money. He approached Nitya with them, after amassing quite a fortune. Had there been a question as to their friendship, there could not be any after. The secret, and the diamonds, were safe between the two of them. 

No, it was his daughter. 

Not having grown up in a court, and not comprehending the immensity of the secret, she’d mentioned to a lady-in-waiting that the Apeiron Chi had splintered, separating in death. That more members were left out, perhaps awaiting their time to return home. About her worry, for how long it would take to bring back the others.

And through the grape-vine, the chatter of gossip that instilled the palace with an ever present hum of voices, the Princess heard of the three members of the Legacy. Of Stilicho, who without a tribe to return to had fought well only to be dissolved in the stomach of a tarrasque. Of Inez, a great wizard of blood and gore, destroying herself in a blaze of fire, only to return and die a second time. And of Marley, a great playwright monk, his body turned to stone then turned to dust under the corpse of the, literally, gargantuan monstrosity of a tarrasque.

She came to Nitya, eyes filled with tears of rage and sadness, of frustration and anguish, a rebuke on her lips. “Did you not believe I could be trusted?” She demanded of the two now living members of the Apeiron Chi, who stood before her tirade with downturned eyes. “Was I so unworthy a person to continue without your trust?”

“It was not for that reason, good lady; it was our battle to fight, our faults that led our brethren to their deaths. So it was our mistakes to fix, ” Quain said, his voice strained as he tried to diffuse her thoughts of betrayal. “Nitya thought only of your duties, of the stressors from all angles. She did not want to impose.”

“If you had imposed,” she said, “I would’ve given you all the gems I own. I wouldn’t have questioned this mission. Indeed, it is the most noble and just— a true friend would not question whether or not to divulge this information,” she whispered, a quivering hand held out to her knight. “If you had, I would not have hesitated.”

“If I had,” Nitya admitted, “perhaps Stilicho and the others would already be here.” But she dropped to her knees, hanging her head. “But I would not; if I were to go back, I would’ve chosen as I’ve chosen now. It is not right. It is my burden to bear, my problem to fix, my neck their deaths rest upon.”

“Nonsense,” she cried, as tears truly did fall from her bright eyes.

“You cannot say that,” Nitya said, looking at her, “for I was the first to fall. In mere seconds,” she sobbed, “I fell in mere seconds upon regaining my body. Upon entering that clone of Inez’s creation, I almost immediately died. How could I ask of your help— request your assistance— when I failed at my single job?” Heaving a sigh, she stated, “I died in disgrace. For a knight to fall so quickly… At times I am ashamed that I have not told you. But the guilt grips me, and I stay silent.”

“You needn’t feel so low,” Quain said, a reassuring countenance falling over his features, “I, too, feel unfulfilled. To fail is to suffer, yes. Mayhap next time we shall not fail in that same way.”

“It is a moot point,” Nitya declared. “It is done. We have enough diamonds to summon Inez, and if I am no longer welcome in your service, I will continue to resurrect the others of the Apeiron until we all stand again. Elsewhere.”

She left, then, with a quick nod to the Princess. Quain hesitated, though, with a kind look and a reassurance. “Give her some time. Let her realize that though mistakes were made, the blame is on the murderer, not the victims.” 

“I believe,” Princess Estorial muttered, “she believes herself to be of the former.” She did not look to her knight.

A sigh, and the bard bowed out. The next morning, the Princess saw a wizard in the courtyard, face pale as the moon and hair dark as night. After a lengthy conversation, she disappeared, vanishing into the aether as she Planes Shifted away in a cloud of bats. Quain and his daughter, too, left then. 

The castle was abuzz, in the following weeks, with new gossip. A love so long-lasting, one forged over a decade of service that survived a betrothal and a wedding, vanished in the blink of an eye. A juicy story. Nitya stayed out of her Lady’s eye, keeping to the corners of the castle one would least expect. She helped the cooks, cleaned the stables, picked apples in the orchard. Anything to keep her away from her lady’s ire.

But it was not displeasure that Estorial felt. There was a frustration in her heart, indeed, but it was dwarfed by a feeling of loneliness. And when she heard, whispered on the winds that fueled the rumor mill, that her knight had gone off to quest for gold and treasures and riches, she pushed that feeling to the side. A princess had duties past those of a rogue knight. Eventually, the thoughts of loneliness overtook her.

It took the trio a year to gather the gems. Nitya had sold all of her jewels to resurrect Inez, parting with each bracelet with a heavy yet determined heart. Inez, too, donated hers. Quain sold a lyre, a beautiful thing with worth beyond measure. But he did it, and the next morning a cleric brought Stilicho back into the world. 

Seven months later, Marley returned as well. He danced his way in, singing a tune from Tabaxi under his breath as he righted himself. “Looks like we’re reunited, at last.”

“Have we a mission?” Stilicho asked, looking between the others. “Have the Legacy requested our aid?”

“No, but they, shall soon. There are only so many Eternals alive, I’d wager,” Quain answered. 

Nodding, Nitya told them, “Eight times, the five of us died. Not to mention others. I worry that other Legacy succumbed to the similar fates we fell to.” 

“We saw others fall, before we were taken,” Marley said, thinking to the mousey cleric, the other barbarian, the warlock and the ranger. “There are more we can bring back.”

“Then,” Quain said, gathering up his instruments and pack, “we have our mission.”

——————————

Five years.

In that time, the Queen had borne a little boy, his hair as blonde as her own, his eyes as dark as his father’s. The King congratulated her. They’d grown closer, for there was no one left for Estorial to confide in. After Nitya fully abandoned her post, she’d fallen into months of despair. To his credit, the Prince had approached her as a friend, and their love had grown.

A different kind of love, from what she still felt for Nitya. It was a calm thing that took her by surprise, held her hand firm, and launched her into the light. Without his patience, she may have withered away.

And the love she felt for her son— that, too, was unquestionable. Every gurgle he’d made, every step he took, every word he learned she fell deeper and deeper into a fond, maternal love. One of pride and worry, full of hope and ideas for the future. Deeper than any love she’d felt before, and would last so long as she lived.

On his third birthday, the King threw him a raucous party. Indeed, it was more for the nobles that gathered at court, for those planning to raise their own daughters to marry him. But, it was marvelous. The castle was decorated in bright silks that draped from the ceilings. Candles filled every room with bright light. Every piece of metal polished to shine at all hours. Magicians and sorcerers conjured fireworks above the battlements, in trios of colors to brighten the night sky with the country’s joy. For an heir meant stability, peace, and prosperity.

The Queen, seated at the high table, watched the revelry from a distance. She’d grown used to seeing things in this way, watching instead of participating. The love she felt for her King was not the kind that led to dancing. It was not a fiery thing, a thing of passion that made her feel brighter than the sun and more lovely than the moon. No, her love for her husband was a quiet thing, of kind acts and pleasant company. But she enjoyed it, all the same.

She realized, watching the crowd move away from the long tables and to the ballroom, that it had a very long time since Nitya had left. A sadness followed her gaze, though it did not bite with as much pain as it once did. 

A noble, dressed in a mask, approached the top table and bowed. With that simple gesture, the Queen noticed that one of their arms was not moving like the other. It moved, with gravity, but did not bend when they stood. Up the figure looked, their white mask painted as though smoke trailed from one corner to the other, soot staining the colorless porcelain. “Perhaps, if I may be so bold, Your Royal Majesty would like a dance.” 

As they spoke, their voice gravelly and rough, a small group of others followed behind them. A tall, cloaked figure in a simple, almost rough mask stood beside a black-haired noble lady, with pearlescent green attire. A man with excellent legs and a half-mask whispered to a small man with a feather in his hat and a viol on his back. They seemed an odd party, but the Queen had come across so many troops of nobles that she’d lost track of the weirdest.

“Thank you,” she said, an automatic but gracious response, “But I am sorry to say; I do not dance.”

A murmur from the four others. “What could I do,” the smoky-masked figure asked, “to convince you to try?” 

The Queen saw a hint of a smile under the smokey white, gracing darkly tanned skin with a sort of mischievous air, a scar cut over their lips. “A riddle, then,” she decided, following a whim. “One involving an old friend.”

“An answer, then,” the figure answered, “would suffice?” When the Queen inclined her head, the figure’s grin grew. “I can only accept, for it shall be my pleasure to know the answer.”

“A curious one, you are, traveler.” The Queen smiled, a bit weary. “But there have been many who try and few who can answer. Their number,” she added, with a bit of a flourish— she was having fun. It was a party, after all— and a smirk, “can be counted on one hand.”

The figure nodded. “A challenge. All the better.”

For a second, the Queen suspected. But no. Instead, she carried on. “Since you’re so assured of your own success, perhaps you’ll find this amusing.” She sat in up in her throne, leaning on the arm as she spoke the riddle in a heady, confident voice:

“These light up without a touch, for all to see. Yet, they are dimmer than a candle. To travel, to these, would take more than a lifetime; but please return, traveler. For there, you’ll find my lover’s name for me.” 

Before her, the five figures seemed to startle. Then, one by one, starting with the smoke-masked one, they began to laugh. “Perhaps you should pick a different riddle,” came their chuckling voice, “seeing as how I am at an unfair advantage.” In a moment of inspiration, the Queen realized why she recognize the figure before her. 

Bells. It was a particular sound, one she’d only heard stitched to a leather cuff around a dancer’s ankles. A sharp but gentle thing, the bright sound of the metal layering over itself in a melody. The figure had a cluster of bells attached to the lapel of their jacket. The metal things were looped around a small, white flower. It didn’t strike her as odd, before. But now she recognized it as the figure added, in a gentle voice:

“My Lady Astara, I do believe you owe me a dance.” Nitya pulled the mask from her face, letting it muss up her cropped hair. “And, perhaps, I can impose on you further, and ask for your patience.” 

“Nitya!” The Queen stood, and the errant knight bowed, a knee to the marble floor. “I did not—! Your voice—”

“Taken from me more than a few times, and destroyed many others.” She shrugged. 

“You coughed up lava, once,” the small figure replied. Thinking back to the five she’d once heard of before, she recognized it to be Quain. She balked at this, imagining great, burning globules of fire and rock and the pain! It made her head ache at the thought of how anyone could have survived such an ordeal. Magic, undoubtedly.

“— and your hair—”

“Shorn after a recent battle, when the red dragon set it alight,” Stilicho remarked. “That was a good fight.” The group nodded, remembering the beast bearing down on the party. It took all their strength to fend it back, and by that time, the long locks that Nitya once braided were a pile of ash and smelly bits. That, though, was the least of their concerns. 

“Ancient thing almost killed us,” Inez Von Herschveld bemoaned.

With a smirk, Marley said, “We survived, though. And now we’ve a tale to tell.” 

The Queen pushed herself from her chair, descending the steps to the main floor. The four members of the Apeiron Chi who still stood bowed then, though they rose when she waved at them with a dismissive gesture. With a shaking hand, she put it under her once-knight’s chin, raising her up to stand. Then, she picked up Nitya’s shriveled left arm, which hung limply at her side. Quietly then, she asked, “— and your arm?” 

“Given to resurrect the last of our group,” she replied. Then, flippant as though she’d rustled a rose bush and come away with a scratch: “Oh, it’s but a silly mistake. I… well, I stepped into a trap without noticing it.” 

“A trap could not do this to you. You’ve a healer, surely—”

“We attempted to fix it, but perhaps it was too late,” admitted Quain. The halfling seemed put out, insulted by the injury that lasted despite his best efforts. Frustration seeped out of his shoulders as he grunted, “It is truly a fault of mine—”

“No. I did not see it,” Nitya said, firm. Turning to her lady, she explained, “We were navigating a tomb of sorts, intent on retrieving a family heirloom buried inside. Lo and behold, it was a lich’s lair, the offered reward supposed to entice travelers and adventurers. Their souls would feed the thing, let it persist. We ventured down into the crypt, and I, thinking I was fleet-footed and eagle-eyed enough, went first. Like a fool,” she chuckled. “Tripped the switch, and the spikes clamped down about here.” With her working hand, she gestured to a spot just below her shoulder. “Lost it, at some point. Sent me into shock, so says the party.”

“Screaming,” Inez said, quietly, “then silent, a heartbeat later.”

“The Cleric the party found later said there must’ve been some kind of toxin that destroyed the nerves. I woke up with a sort of buzzing sensation in my fingers, and haven’t felt anything since. In any case, though Quain can manage to heal us all to our fullest, it’s persisted.”

He scoffed. “Much to my chagrin.”

The words slipped from her mouth before she could reign them back in. “If there’s no feeling at all,” Estorial said, “then how’re you to dance?” 

The four members of the Apeiron Chi looked about themselves, awkward. This, none of them had expected. Which was laughable, seeing as how the entertainer, who danced with bells on her feet and a fire in her eyes to earn a free room for the night, was now unable to lift a hand. Quain, though, knew a slice more of the pair’s history than the others. He guided the Eternals away, letting the two converse in the nearly empty Great Hall.

“Ah. Perhaps we should eschew that for later, then,” she acquiesced. Her amused voice gave way to an awkward one, full of pauses and possibility. “So, I’ll ask instead for your patience. I… am no longer a dancer. And I am no longer a knight; after that last adventure, though we destroyed the many clones it possessed and disintegrated its phylactery, the victory rang hollow in me. We’d earned enough to resurrect our final member. Two hundred thousand gold pieces in diamonds, all totaled. It should’ve brought us all joy.” The party nodded, all in silent agreement. “But it signalled the end of our journey, the final piece to make the group whole.”

“And so you’ve returned, with the Apeiron Chi to wit.”

She seemed almost embarrassed, then. “They thought it best if they accompanied me, as I am not in much of a shape to fight on my own. Not for a prolonged battle, anyways.” She looked to their retreating form, found the chill at her back was creeping into her belly and worming its way into her nerves, and steeled herself. “I am here to ask for forgiveness, if you’ll allow me.” 

From the distance, they could hear the sounds of light music, full of melodious chords. “I’m not sure I have that in my heart,” the Queen admitted. A bit of hope drained from Nitya’s eyes. “You left me, when I felt betrayed by my greatest friend. I lost a love, that day, and the pain lingers.”

Looking to the King, who was off carrying his young son around, Nitya whispered, “And you’ve found others.”

Quick as a thought: “Others are not you.” She took a deep breath, and continued, “And one love does not destroy another. My love for the king, my love for my son— those occupy spots in my heart I had not access to, before. I’ve grown.”

“And I’ve withered,” Nitya answered back. She took a step back, her useless arm shifting out of Estorial’s grasp. “We do not match any longer, you and I. There was…” She sighed. “There was a part of me that remembered my old promise. That vow we made, before the then Prince took your hand in marriage.”

“I, too, remember that bond.”

“I’d broken the others. Rent all trust and understanding between us and left it asunder. I left. I chose to go and forfeit whatever we’d had between us, before. But that one…” She looked up at Estorial, naught but a faint bit of hope in her eyes. “I thought, perhaps, it endured.”

For a moment, the Queen was silent. Thoughts of their earlier years flowed through her, of years previous when their love had confused her and tormented her with impossible fantasies. Of a dream, a dream lived together. 

“So, here I stand. A bit different and a bit worse for wear,” she said, a dark chuckle bubbling from an insecure piece of her. Her voice broke as she joked, “And here I am, asking the Queen of a whole nation who has better things to do with her time, than listen to a broken knight and a dancer made lame, for her to love me again. Must be mad. Dim. Taken too many hits to the head...”

“You speak as though I have forgotten,” Estorial said, quiet. “As though the love I felt vanished with you.”

“I convinced my self, many moons ago, that you must’ve fallen out of love with me. It was an easier burden to bear, than to feel the guilt and pining.” 

“Yet I have not given up that small flame.” She looked at Nitya, hand raising to her cheek once more. “There is still a candle, lit in the windows, if you had only followed it home.”

The Queen felt a tear. “I am here. Perchance the maiden of the household would let this weary traveler rest?”

“She would, the door is open if the knight knocks to wake her from her failed vigil.” She gave Nitya a sad look. “I waited, that day. Stood vigil all morning, thinking that if I looked away you’d be gone. When I summoned your soul back to the land of the living, I thought I’d cheated death and won against the Raven Queen herself. Perhaps I misunderstood. You’ve been doing that, these five years— all this time! Traveling to the far corners of worlds I cannot go to, cannot even fathom. And in my heart there was a memory of me, watching along the battlements, standing vigil by the door, waiting at the window. I’ve forgotten it was lit, but the candle burns on.” 

“Must’ve been magical wax,” Nitya joked, eyes downcast. She felt, rather than saw, the searing look of frustration that whipped over Estorial’s face, a curse about not taking things seriously.

“Must’ve been,” she said, a bit cross. “Now, if I may have that dance you suggested…”

“I am sorry to say I cannot dance,” Nitya admitted. “The arm is not useful at best, and a nuisance at worst.”

“Nonsense.”

“It’ll be embarrassing for the both of us.” Nitya picked up the jacket sleeve, letting the arm flop against her side.

“And somehow, I don’t care.” The Queen wrapped her arm around Nitya’s waist, guiding her towards the ballroom.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” Nitya whispered, a scared expression over her eyes.

Estorial paused. Her feet stopped moving towards the music; she let it course over her, each measure of music bouncing into the next. Waves of instruments following each other to the invisible beat. “I do not know,” she said, with a voice full of truth, “if I can forgive you. It’s a lot, even for someone I love and loved, so dearly, to forgive that. But I will try.” 

She nodded her head against the Queens. “Then, I am more than happy.”

It wasn’t the solution. Though, that night as they danced, a small piece of their past relationship returned to them. Like finding a missing piece of a puzzle they’d long since given up solving. And it was hard, in the subsequent months, to find common ground again when they’d become very different people for so long a time. But they found it, in stories Nitya now had and the knowledge Estorial now possessed. It was a chance.

When the ex-knight could not follow her Queen, she learned to wait. The world reversed around the pair, with Nitya keeping vigil whilst the Queen attended to her duties as monarch and co-ruler. But when the Queen Estorial Cemile Pavia-Eriane, of House Maristel, returned, she always saw a light in the window.

**Author's Note:**

> My friends and I did the (quick and simple) math, and it would take our party 200,000 GP's worth of diamonds to resurrect every single member of the Apeiron Chi. But if we only focused on the main members, who we as players created (and not the DM freebies because we knew we were going to die... a lot), it would've cost 100,000 GP's worth of diamonds.
> 
> It was incredibly expensive for one reason: literally ALL of our bodies were either vaporized by fire (one of Inez's, both of Nitya's, one of Quain's), turned into stone and then squashed by the dying tarrasque (Marley), destroyed in tarrasque stomach acid (Stilicho, though he took UNGODLY amounts of damage beforehand, as a proper damage-sponge Barbarian should), or crushed to bits (the second of Inez's and one of Quain's, though the effectiveness of True Resurrection on a mutilated body are... debatable. As you'd, presumably, have to find the essential piece of the person and use that in the spell. For ease's sake, I went with the same spell for everyone, despite specific deaths). 
> 
> All in all, the main party suffered heavy losses that resulted in all of our bodies ending up unusable. So, we had to use True Resurrection, a 9th level spell costing 25,000 GP's worth of diamonds (plus some holy water, but at that point it was a negligible cost). If we were swindled by a dealer, and sold undervalued diamonds, the actual total could've been more. But for brevity's sake, we spent a LOT of GP doing this. (In the theoretical space that is my mind.)
> 
> I threw in the extra tertiary characters as both flavor (to prove that we died a whole bunch, dear reader) and because it would extend the questing to the five years in the story, ravage further countrysides for their sparklies, and feed my inner drama queen. (Though, some could argue it was simply for the latter, and neither the first nor second reasons...)
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed this work, as I may find the time, energy, or motivation to write up some of the side-quest ideas, including throwing up lava and losing an arm. Huzzah!


End file.
